Phantom Prey

the tea, she had determined the best possible way to dispose of the clothing.
    She did the Fairy clothes and the wig, first, then got the clothes from the dryer, before the end of the cycle, still damp.
    She was still working when the phone rang.
    She looked at the caller ID, Davenport. She knew what he’d say: that there had been a new killing. She licked her lips, drew a breath, picked up the phone: “Oh, no, no, no. Oh, no. Lucas . . .”
    He would see her tomorrow, he said.
    She’d pulled it off.
    An hour later, she was at her spa in Highland Park—not far from Davenport’s house. He’d be in bed, probably. She’d have to think about Davenport, already regretted inviting him in on the case. He was too smart—he’d have to be dealt with.
    How to do that? She’d think about it overnight.
    The spa was dark, silent. She went back to the women’s locker room, into one of the bathroom stalls, and carefully and slowly fed the shredded wig and the Fairy costume and her clothes from the evening, all carefully scissored into one-inch squares, down the toilet.
    There.
    Let the police find that.
    She gave it a couple of extra flushes to make sure nothing had gotten blocked, and walked out to her car. She wasn’t sleepy yet. She remembered the crime-scene crew working in the kitchen after Frances disappeared . . .
    Maybe she could go on the Internet and find out if there was anything about destroyed DNA. If there was a cleaning product, she’d take the time to clean out the Benz, even though there was no visible blood. Then, maybe, trade it. She’d been told that a lot of low-mileage traded Mercedeses wound up in Mexico. If that were true, they’d never locate it. . . .
    Outside, she paused in the parking lot, her hand on the car door. Not a bad night, she thought. The air was cold, but you could smell the spring just around the corner.
    Tomorrow, she’d figure out the small car.
    And Davenport.
    And maybe Fairy.

16
    Lucas got up angry, felt the mood settling in for a stay. Knew it, suppressed it at breakfast, but both the housekeeper and Sam picked it up: he was trailing the anger around like a faint odor of skunk. He called Austin before he left for the office, and she told him that she was at the Highland Park spa. If he could stop on the way to work, she said, she had some thoughts.
    “We could use a few thoughts,” he said.
    “Then I’ll see you in ten minutes?”
    Austin was wearing a form-fitting bloodred tracksuit, a peculiar shade of red that always looked good on blondes, and that only blondes knew about. She was talking with another client, who patted her on the shoulder, then gave her a squeeze. Lucas recognized the other one’s face, but couldn’t remember her name. Then Austin looked past her friend and the woman turned, eyebrows went up and she stuck out a hand and said, “Dalles Burger, Stone & Kaufmann. Lucas, how are you?”
    “Sure, Dallie”—like he knew who she was all the time, doing a little tap dance while his brain retrieved her file card: lawyer—“I don’t think I’ve seen you since, what, the no-strike committee meeting. Are you going to arbitrate?”
    She was flattered that he remembered: “I will. We’ll be doing it right on the spot, so it’ll be touchy.”
    “Ah, you’ll work it out.”
    “I’ve got to talk to Lucas for a moment,” Austin told Burger. “He’s investigating what happened to my daughter.”
    “Oh, boy. Let me get out of here,” Burger said. And, “I want you to call me. If you need anything, just call. I’ll run errands, whatever.”
    “Thanks, Dallie; I’ll call.”
    When Burger was gone, Austin pointed Lucas at a chair and asked, “What was this committee? No-strike? Arbitration?”
    “The building trades have agreed to a no-strike provision on the Republican convention work, but they wanted arbitration if there was a disagreement. The governor’s people put together an arbitration committee.”
    “Ah. Politicians.” Austin settled back in her own chair.
    “They’re not all terrible,” Lucas said.
    “Yes, they are. Every single one of them,” Austin said, a little serious behind the smile. “They take property away from people who work to get it, and give it to people they think will vote to keep them in their jobs. It’s that raw.”
    “Then you should be happy to see the Republicans come to town,” Lucas said.
    “They’re just as bad as the other ones,” Austin said. “I am seriously disaffected. I believe